Christmas Eve (2014 Diary #3)

What a beautiful, crystal clear, crispy and starry ‘Christmas Eve’ morning. 7am you see. (click on the picture below to get a taste of ‘A Christmas Carol’ from Charles Dickens)

The curse of decades of rolling out of the leaba for work means that this internal clock will only probably re-adjust a decade after retiring and that’s a long way off, if ever. (Do you ever get the sneaking suspicion that governments might raise the retirement age to 110 sometime soon as there simply wont be money for pensions as we all living way too bloody long)

I am not complaining though, at this hour of the morning the peace and quiet is just perfect. The hurrying and scurrying has yet to hit it’s stride. So for now just enjoying putting a few words down, and a Mattersons sausage from the frying pan. (Oh! just prepared the brine, my turkey is going for a long bath in an hour or so, keep you posted.

Christmas eve sky

Christmas Eve was (and is) the big day in many a household. In Croatia this morning they only now decorate the Christmas tree. Nothing up to now. No month long build up. We should really try and adopt some traditions from other countries that sound like good idea’s instead of McDonald’s. (I feel a Bah Humbug coming on!)

It was magic for us anyway, Christmas eve, for us a young children when we were all dressed up in our Christmas clothing, that was patiently hand made by ‘the Mam’ in the weeks and months running into the Christmas. Dad’s job meant that a lot of odd pieces, end cuts of material were left over from the business were re-cycled into the most incredible apparel by our resident genius of a seamstress, tailor and designer all rolled into one, the Mam. Boy did we look great and the magic was only starting. Once dressed we of course were on our best behaviour (somebody was keeping a very close eye on us today and if we misbehaved we just might ruin our chances of getting a cracker of a surprise much later in the evening, you know what I mean) and off to town we went for the ‘traditional’ visit to Santa to whisper in his ear, I want a surprise. (I honestly can’t remember telling the bearded one what I wanted, as it would have been a waste of time and we simply got a surprise every time). The annual ‘Santa’ photo was taken and off we went to wander about the store ( a store called Cannock’s is strongest in my minds eye), and stop and gape at the magical toys that were everywhere. Thing is, if you stopped for too long, or even reached out to touch some of the toys on display (and boy we were warned to keep our hands to ourselves) somehow Santa knew that that was the thing we most wanted for Christmas. He had eyes everywhere. He was some operator. Hence every Christmas was a ‘surprise’.

It was over to Cruises hotel or another establishment close by for a lemonade and something to nibble and then home, Christmas clobber put away for the big day tomorrow (and the most crowded mass I can remember which scared me a little).

Happy Christmas Eve.



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